The Song
by Goldenfeather98
Summary: A Frying Pangle love story that takes place during the Austro-Prussian War. Austria and Hungary meet at a ball, but Prussia becomes resentful of Hungary's enigmatic musician as he slowly grows into a love interest for her. Tensions are high, and war seems eminent for the three tragic star-crossed lovers. Mostly PG, rated T only for some mild language. Enjoy!
1. Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5

Author's Note: The beginning of this is a war, which forms a love story. You can find my references here: wiki/Austria-Hungary

And here: wiki/Austro-Prussian_War

The quotes were found at an obscure website which I cannot recall at the moment. I worked really hard on this, so please feel free to tell me if I should write more and give as much feedback as possible! "^_^

"_The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums," ~Arthur Koestler_

**Chapter One**

"Resistance is futile! Surrender immediately and succumb to the awesomeness known as the great Prussia!"

Damn it.

Damn it all.

I can't feel anything but the voice, reverberating around my skull like a mechanical drum, methodic as clockwork. Echoes growing fainter and fainter as the line between sanity and madness blur and twist their confounding ways around my subconscious.

"Surrender!"

Thump.

"Surrender!"

Thump.

Just a voice, nothing more. But it will suffice as a modest token for me to grasp and stay within the boundaries of my own subconscious, and not fade into the realms of perpetual darkness that envelope the outer realms of my mind, where a place is set for me at Death's table. It has been most likely been beckoning me to my rightful place in the dismal and haunted lands beyond for quite some time now, calling me eagerly whilst the people of my empire tear themselves apart.

I'd like to imagine the placeholder, no humble carving, but a gilded rectangle with my name emblazoned upon its inscribed surface in a glorious script. It's a bit superfluous, but there's no need to be frugal in the afterlife, I suppose.

Hold on… Something isn't right. I train my ears for the sound of my treacherous enemy's voice, struggling to obtain a strain of sound in my thoughts so that I may not end up positioned in a comatose dilemma.

Damn.

Prussia's voice is fading again. Not a good sign of my vitality. I shouldn't have let my mind drift again, but I'd prefer to think of anything but dying at this point. My body has gone entirely numb, and I'm left to be marooned in a sea of vast emptiness and apathy, although the voice is getting clearer and I'm starting to return, even if it took a while to recover from my head wound. That tenacious Prussia was more resilient than I expected in the art of war, with an army of thousands of men baying for the blood of my people. His aim was true when he smote a blow to my head and knocked me unconscious, but he shall taste my wrath if I pay him back in turn.

"If". Not when. Yes, even I have started to lose faith in myself. My empire is lackluster in strength these days, though I still remember the days we were great, and when our army was revered and awed by the foreign powers. An alliance would be beneficial at this moment, but Switzerland is still bothered by our row and would never come to my rescue.

Why does everyone always leave me?

Abandon me to die?

I can feel the throbbing in my head and broken ribs as I focus on waking up and coming back to the world. Sensation trickles it's way slowly but surely into my fingers, which clutch the tall grasses upon solid ground like a lifeline. I focus on the texture of the grass to try and block out the unpleasant expression of agonizing pain emanating from my ribcage. Downy tufts towards the top of the plant, unless I'm experiencing vertigo and that's the bottom, and a stiff, vascular stalk covered with a slick liquid, partially dried. I try to convince myself ineffectively that it's the plant's nectar, but it's more likely my own blood, judging by the stench of battle that seems to follow bloodshed everywhere.

The pain has yet to subside, but energy was quickly restored to my body after I became conscious. I can open my eyes without a problem, but do I dare?

My eyelids flicker cautiously open, and my gaze is not met by a horde of enemies, but by a thoroughly emptied landscape, devoid of any people, ally or foe. My comrades must have fled back to their homes and families once they saw that I had been struck down by Germany's megalomaniac brother. To be quite honest, I am extremely skillful in battle, but I'd rather be stringing a lyre than a bow. Though my limbs ache with protest, I will return home to my falling kingdom to return to battle in the near future.

Because I am Austria and that is what I do.

I recover.

I charge.

And I fight on.

"_The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved," ~Mother Teresa_

**Chapter Two**

"Would you like some more wine?" The silver maned figure half-mumbles nervously. His cheeks are flooded with red as the words flow like honeyed nectar from his mouth, enchanting as the naive individual who uttered them. His eyes are focused strictly towards the setting sun in the distance, and as my eyes rove over his peace offering of the bottle a fresh wave of pink casts its glow upon him, as if he can sense my gaze.

Unnaturally shy for Gilbert.

He's been like this ever since he found out about who I really am, and he's extremely awkward, as if he doesn't understand what he's feeling. His ruby eyes, still focused on the scenery, are unreadable.

Does he know? He can't possibly know...

That I might feel the same?

He finally turns to face me, with my heart fluttering in my chest, and his striking eyes are still indiscernible, partially hidden by a forest of silvery and metallic hair. God, I hope he can't hear how my heart is pounding right now. Like a drum calling youths to war. I don't know how much time has passed.

Eons could have gone by.

Empires could have fallen while I waited for him to say something.

And I wouldn't have given a damn for all the treasure in the world while I was ensnared in this moment of perfect bliss.

He starts to speak shyly, so unlike his usual nature, eyes still downcast, voice straining against his nervous words,

"Elizabeta..." He begins.

It all happens so suddenly. He musters up the courage to gaze up, and now his eyes are shining like dying stars in their last gleam of life. Glittering with an emotion powerful enough to defy death and make even the most resolute of men throw their logic away.

Is this hate? Scorn? Envy?

No. An expression still stronger.

He places his arms around my waist and pulls me in close to his waiting embrace, and my eyes are wide with surprise as our lips meet for the first and last time.

But my eyelids flutter open as I awake and find I am as alone as ever.

Goddammit.

That flashback made its way into my subconscious again.

How despicable that I am filled with such bittersweet sadness.

Pain has a way of doing that to you.

_"When I hear music, I fear no danger. I am invulnerable. I see no foe. I am related to the earliest times, and to the latest." ~ Henry David Thoreau_

**Chapter Three**

As I cautiously enter my homeland dwelling, I exhale a sigh of great relief. At last I am safe from the immensely powerful foreigners which have threatened my home.

Well, safer. That insatiable Prussia has still obtained a vital region of my territory, and he is still barking for yet more land to be saturated with the blood of my people.

A servant greets me kindly, smiling, at the doorway, but the smile does not reach his eyes, which are filled with the terror of a man sentenced to be executed.

For the first time, I realize that no music is playing in the house. In the place of laughter and the chords of Chopin is emptiness and deathly silence. The only sound is that of the servant's light breathing and my own heartbeat, amplified ten-fold from the lack of usual civilian sounds.

I see.

So even my familiars and comrades understand what is coming.

Why must my people suffer such pain?

Why must we carry such an obstinate burden of fear and weakness?

My reflection knows not the answer. The mirrored countenance in my bedroom serves only as a reminder that I have lost, taunting me mutely with images of my recently acquired wounds.

Frustrated, I pick up my violin and begin to play. The hour is nearing eleven at night, and I cannot bear to go downstairs and face the desolate silence on my way to the piano, so this will have to substitute. Placing my bow upon the coarse strings, I gently ease and guide a melody from the primitive depths of horsehair and wood.

Notes fly from the instrument as I draw my bow across it, an artist at his easel. My body is beginning to scream with protest from the repetitive motion, and tears betray my face with the pain, but I must not stop. Not now, not ever. At least, not by my own devices.

This went on for a full hour until a figure arrived at my premises. "Going to the Hungarian Ball tomorrow? It's your duty as a nearby country, you know," A steady voice carries from the corridor outside my door, abruptly interrupting my practice prematurely. I place the violin upon its stand and wait for the man to advance.

The man steps forward and peers closely at my wounds. "Oh, now look what you've done, Roderich. Your shoulder is bleeding all over your clothes. You shouldn't reopen old wounds by overexerting yourself. I'll have to get an infirmary to bandage it properly," When I don't respond, he fixates me with a hard stare.

"I heard about what happened during the battle today. We've taken a difficult loss, and we can't afford to take any more deductions. If you want your nation to survive, you're going to have to fight to counter the strength of two enemies. France alone wouldn't be a problem, but Prussia certainly won't allow for such miscalculations. So try to maintain friendly relations at least for the week of the Ball, alright?"

I simply nod in response, and he is satisfied enough to leave me alone with my music. The infirmary workers enter my room noiselessly sometime later and patch my injuries with bandages, then leave quite contentedly without a word as I slip into the darkness of an exhausted sleep.

Take two people of great willpower, and fill their hearts with immense desire for something intangible, but just beyond their reach.

This is how you start a war.

_"There's no love like the first,"~ Nicholas Sparks _

**Chapter Four**

If I could ride into battle once more, I could be happy.

Hear the resonating of a familiar war drum that concludes a Hungarian victory.

Relish in the last words of my dying treacherous enemies

Find solace in the pleas of those who weren't lucky enough to find their mercy in death.

Run away from here forever.

There is no honor in hiding from enemies in a cursed tower.

Not with the growing unease of my own civil war, at least. An uncomfortable sensation of unease falls heavily upon my shoulders as a handmaid gently aligns the back of the silk prison I am held hostage in. The soft material feels too feminine, a pseudo countenance my namesake has bestowed upon me as a woman. The supposed weakness of the female race.

I thumb the blade of the ceremonial dagger, the last piece of my former life my boss has permitted me to hold on to. Perhaps it is a result of the turbulent political unrest that has affected my resentment of my leader. As a young woman, I am supposed to begin to embrace the coming culture that will be arriving with grace and elegance, though I don't know if I can when the feel of a dress is foreign to my skin. Does my home expect too much of me?

Am I a disappointment to my people?

The answer evades me yet again.

As I climb down the iridescent stairway, I see that the guest have already arrived and are taking in the opulent scenery of the Grand Hall quite well. A round two-thousand have apparently attended, or so I am told by my superior. I smile graciously as I welcome the crowd in, impressions are everything here, I am not to display any sign of potential weakness.

Two-thousand enemies have very keen eyes.

Fortunately, he is not among them tonight.

Something more painful than the iron of my dagger plunges shards of bitter ice deeply into my heart as I remember the contours of his face, his striking eyes.

How he abandoned me for his empire

When we were kids, I made a promise to him that he could never uphold, no matter how much he claimed he wanted me.

Love truly is the cruelest poison.

I try not to think of him often, but when I do, this weapon is always in my hand. The steely flint texture of my blade holds only calculating and menacing truth, while the emerald inlay offers a beautiful solace from the pain. The gems are indeed divine, finely polished with equal faucets, but nothing could be more superficial. Only the sharpened blade, deliverer of pain, is the true purveyor of truths.

How odd. A young man has been gazing at me from across the hall through my entire daydream. I look out the panes of glass towards the stables until I slide into another memory, this one of battles not yet won. I am racing towards the enemy side in a charge when a polite cough interrupts my fantasy of victory.

"Miss Elizabeta, I presume?" It's the young man from across the hall. This close to my face, I can easily see that he is a foreigner.

Ebony locks, neatly trimmed and combed frame his face, save for a flyaway strand on the side of his head. His glasses glint in the unnatural artificial lighting, momentarily concealing the intricate violet hue of his calm eyes. His clothes are traditional for a formal man of noble birth, but they are not native to my land.

Most certainly a stranger, albeit a handsome one. I do not remember him attending the last ball, or any events before that. But there's something else about him... something different.

"How do you know my name?" I inquire mildly. "Please pardon my rude intrusion, and my lack of an introduction. My name is Roderich Edelstien, or Austria," He gives a slight bow, as custom demands. So he is a country. And a gentleman, too. Interesting.

"You still have not answered my question," I reply coldly, without returning his greeting. For all I know, he could be a spy sent by another power to come and search me for weaknesses in my empire. The man gives a somewhat mysterious half-smile in response with his reply. "You are the most beautiful woman here, but in all truth, never have I seen one with sadder eyes,"

I break out in a cold sweat.

He's found a chink in my armor.

"I see. You are indeed very kind for one so eloquent," I chime back with a false smile. But he's already seen the despair and fear in my eyes, the emotion that the refined smile could not possibly hide. Kindness was not what I was expecting from him.

My cheeks flush uncontrollably red as soon as the words have left his mouth, and I realize his voice sounds almost musical with its strangely accented ways. But before I can mention anything else he catches sight of my dagger. A flash of shock and maybe a bit of anger flicker cross his eccentric eyes in a second, and he recoils immediately with his back to me, as if the sight of such a weapon repels him. I stumble around mentally, trying to comprehend what just happened with his change of mood.

The man does not seem to notice my lost footing, and if he does, he gives no indication of it. His face is away from me now, and he is staring solemnly out the same window which spurred on my daydream. A long silence is established between us for what drags into silent seconds until he speaks again.

"That is... quite an interesting dagger," He states quietly, with his voice unreadable. When he turns around, he is smiling politely, but his hands are clenched into fists. "Might I ask who gave you such a gift?" My eyes narrow, as I have not forgotten my coldness towards him as a stranger. "A friend," I retort. The man smiles again, and this time, it is genuine.

His violet eyes are shining brightly when he says his parting words. "I see. Interesting how you grip it so tenaciously, like your last lifeline. I think I understand your sadness a little better now, but you are indeed an interesting woman, Miss Elizabeta. I hope we cross paths again," He delivers a gentleman's bow and leaves with the same mysterious smile he greeted me with.

The thought of Roderich Edelstein and his strange ways. The only memory of a man, other than Gilbert, that has ever followed me into my dreams.

"_Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness," ~ Maya Angelou_

**Chapter Five**

The man from across the hall lingers in my dreams. My subconscious is filled with nothing but his fare-welling countenance. Just his enigmatic smile and violet eyes, blinking, grinning, and finally fading.

It is not possible that he could have known about my dagger, and yet there he stood, displaying its history as if he could peer right through the veil. I wonder if he can see right through my actions as well.

I cannot help but wonder what he is planning, what with that enigmatic smile of his. Still, it will not do if more cracks in my armor are openly displayed. The sooner I unearth whatever nefarious scheme he is plotting, the better. I cannot sleep soundly anymore without knowing what else he might know. My empire will not be sustained for much longer.

I think I might just kill him tonight before things get any worse. It would certainly be easier.

But then I recall the repercussions of my actions. Or so I thought. That smile will not leave me alone, and the thought of killing him just leaves a pounding ache in my stomach, like a gaping hole will be opened in my chest where my heart used to be.

Men are so troublesome. I exhale unhappily and try to force my arms to grip my dagger, but they will not move. My skillful hands remain as resolute as lead. It seems my heart is set on not killing that man. Deep down, I don't think I could do it anyway. For tonight, at least.

Something resounds quietly outside my door, and has all the signs of a drunken man attempting to make an entrance. My first reflex is to grab my dagger and bolt outside, but when I do, embarrassment floods up inside me and I feel quite foolish for my unreasonable paranoia. The only sound present, and probably the one I heard, is one of haunting music. I hear the subtle and near inaudible melody carrying gently up the corridor, and I begin to become intrigued. Who could possibly be playing piano at this hour?

And with such sadness in the tune?

It is almost as though the notes are playfully tugging at my nightgown, ushering me down the stairs to the source. My bare feet are guiding me without my acknowledgement, gliding softly and slowly down the polished marble. It seems surreal, and the whole world seems to have a misted-over, dreamlike quality to it. My toes press against the cold floor, and the freezing shock I receive does nothing to stir me from the ethereal space I have wound myself into. All that I am aware of is my slow, muted descent into the Great Hall, and the sound of the enchanting melody that has coaxed me from my room. A tall and slender figure is bent over the polished, ebony surface of the grand piano, reflecting the countenance of the mirrored stars, and of the figure himself.

Austria.

His long fingers fly skillfully across the ivory keys with perfect unison, adding just the right pitch to the performance. Eyes closed, mind deep in concentration, he obviously did not hear me approaching from behind. The beautiful cacophonies of notes fly up into the air with bittersweet grandeur, like a rose wilted, of pain and passion. Even his soft and slight breathing sounds miserable and upset. My face starts to feel damp, and when I touch my hand to my face, I realize that I am crying, tears drawn out by the song gliding silently down my face. A weight feels lifted from my heart when the slight weight of his hand delicately presses against the keys, and I forget all about the civil war and political unrest I am facing, about my coldness towards Roderich. I even forget about Gilbert. All that I know and have ever known is the solemn and heart breaking ringing of this song.

"Why do you play so sadly?" I half-whisper. Giving a start, Austria turns around quite surprised, but whips right back to the piano, face turning red. "What?" I ask, slightly annoyed that he stopped playing his beautiful composition. "Miss Elizabeta... Your attire is indecent... for a young woman like yourself..." He stumbles, still staring at the floor, his face beet red. I look down and realize that I am still wearing my nightgown, a long white dress that hangs loosely on my slight frame.

"Is that all?" I actually begin to laugh a little, and a smile spreads across my face. My heart feels freer than ever before, I haven't laughed like that in months. I even forget my thoughts of killing the man. "I see, Roderich, and you are completely right. But you are quite the perfect gentleman, so I assume that nothing will ensue from this,"

"But what if you were to meet someone other than myself down here?" He chided me, and suddenly his voice turns dark. "What if I were not the person you thought I was? I could have taken you away..." His voice trails off and he glances up at my face and away from the floor. "Please promise me that you won't do such a thing again. You don't know what kind of mad men filled with wine could be up at this hour, especially tonight," He sighs and shakes his head vigorously. "I only just met you, yet you worry me to no end, Miss Elizabeta," The corners of his mouth tilt upwards in that mysterious smile of his, and his violet eyes gleam brightly behind his glasses.

"So..." I begin, drying the tears from my eyes with a long white sleeve, "Why do you play with such pain? My heart almost yearns to comfort you when you play such sad songs," Roderich looks at the keys of the piano for a long time before replying. "When I play, it is with the sadness of my people. Pain is an emotion that I have come to learn very well these past few days," Did his eyes just dart to my dagger? It happened so fast... I must have just imagined it. He rubs his shoulder nonchalantly, like an old wound is acting up again.

The hallway is oddly silent and desolate without the piano's music, and it surprises me to no end with the next words that come out of Austria's mouth.

"Would you like to learn how to play?"

I nod enthusiastically; I have no other option since he has graciously invited me to. As I take a seat on the black wooden bench and place my hands on the small ivory keys, he places his hands delicately upon mine, guiding them through the keys.

The soft clinking of the chords sounds subtly pure and harmonious, intertwining with and between the fabric of space and time with simple notes and noises, all conducted by this one kindly, quiet man. His violet eyes grow soft and malleable with the music, as if it is a part of him, an extension of himself. The beauty of hearing him tap the keys alongside me is a moment of almost indescribable wonder. I am filled with such incredible desire to just breathe next to him.

And just listen.

The world slows down and stops when he plays.

Affected by some unknown force and lost in the moment, I reach my hands up to his shoulders, where he pulls me in to his embrace. But his arms feel warmer than Gilbert's, and when this man holds me, I feel more alive than ever.

But suddenly, he looks off into the distance, and his violet eyes fill with undeniable loathing. Gently, he takes my hands off his shoulders and places them at my side, and bids me goodnight with uncomfortable politeness. Then he's gone, off to his room, and my feet are frozen to the ground, purposeless traitors with the absence of his sweet music.

What could have stopped him? I look off in the direction he was gazing, and I see a quick flash of silver and forest green retreating to the men's wing.

And suddenly it all connects.

The drunken man at the door.

Austria's warning and odd behavior tonight.

His seemingly irrational dislike of my blade.

A servant notified me later that night.

The Prussians have arrived.


	2. Chapter 6

_"I don't know why they call it heartbreak. It feels like every other part of my body is broken too," ~Unknown_

**Chapter Six**

All pain is relative.

A broken arm is a moderate wound, a token of valor on a battlefield. Depending on your view, it may even be useful. Proof that the horrors you endured actually existed and were not the shadowy figments of your imagination.

A severed limb is the worst. The pain will rack your body with horrible chills for days, the stump is easily contaminated and can be infected regularly, but even the fiery, tumultuous seizures and spasms of immense suffering serve their use. For, in your deformed transfiguration, men and women will bear witness to your incredible sacrifice and patronage to your country, and become inspired by your struggle to be more patriotic.

A broken heart serves no use, and hurts far worse than any of the aforementioned. You are filled with just a solid emptiness that resonates throughout the entire fiber of your being, fueled by hate that growls in your heart like a demonic beast. My hate has one name, and it is of the man who took Elizabeta from me.

Austria.

I seek solace and refuge by dashing through the door of the men's wing and out into the forest outside, hoping to clear my head, but right now I want nothing more than to kill that man. It probably doesn't help that I've been drinking on an empty stomach. Something wet and clammy clings to my face, and I pray to Old Fritz that they are not tears. I am Gilbert Beilschmidt, and I cannot lose. Not to Russia, not to Poland. Not to anyone.

And especially not to him.

Not when Hungary is involved.

Not now, not ever.

Rage and primal hatred makes me clench my hand around my knife, and I hear a wisp of sound. I turn my head, and my ears pinpoint with practiced accuracy clumsy footfall approximately 10 feet behind me. I turn around with my blade drawn to face a glinting pair of glasses obscuring strange eyes. The eyes of my nemesis. I miscalculated his distance from me slightly, as the alcohol I have ingested muffled my ears, though my hand is steadier than stone when I place my weapon to his throat. Roderich merely blinks calmly, without emotion. He is truly made of stone, expressionless, cold, and unfeeling. The humiliation of my adversary being so inhuman... a frosted, heartless piece of ice, with arms ensnaring my Elizabeta... Saying her name with the thought of him only adds to the fury building exponentially inside my soul, and I finally manage to conjure a coherent sentence, narrowing my eyes to fiery slits.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance, low-life," I hiss, pressing my blade into his neck until beads of blood begin to appear. "You can't win a fight against me, so you resort to disarming me by personal means? There is no honor in such an action, coward! You stay away from her, or I will defeat you once more!" Roderich blinks calmly once more before pushing his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. "I see. So Miss Elizabeta is indeed your beloved? I was not aware that she was in such a scenario... In fact, I was rather under the impression that you had abandoned her after toying with her emotions, leaving for your empire when she needed you most." His eyes gleam brightly when he sees that I am struck speechless, and he might have continued had I not taken physical action against him.

"Lies!" I shout, and I grasped him by the collar and threw him to the ground, slicing his cheek with my knife as a painful temporary reminder to keep away, but that does nothing to fend off the onslaught of bitter flashbacks that flood my visage in a torrential flow. A small girl's laughter, the feel of warm summer grass beneath childhood feet, and a whispering voice.

"Even when we get big and strong, we should stay together forever!"

"Promise?"

The last word, always an omnipresent echo.

Small flecks of his blood land across my face, and they taste satisfyingly of battle and an enemy's defeat, though it does nothing to slate the perpetual depression and pain lying eternally in my heart. The yearning for Hungary. Austria stands up, his hand compressing his shallow cut, and his eyes are alive and flash vibrantly with violet fire as he smiles mysteriously. "I will have you know that Miss Elizabeta belongs to no one. I would like to say that I pursued her once I knew it would agitate you, but I cannot, for I fell for her as soon as I set my eyes upon her. Only tonight did I discover that she had previously had history with you, which made her all the more desirable in my eyes, the tantalizing madness of viewing something beautiful, yet not being able to contact it. I have never felt this way before, but I can definitely guess. I fear deeply that I am in love with Miss Elizabeta, and for that reason, I have no intention of leaving her alone, no matter how much pain I must undergo."

With that, Austria made his exit to the interior of the men's wing, leaving me caught in the aftershock, hate, and confusion of his confession.


	3. Chapter 7

_"Anger ventilated often hurries towards forgiveness; anger concealed often hardens into revenge," ~ Edward G. Bulwer Lytton_

**Chapter Seven**

Fear is inescapable.

You can run and run and run, but it will find you.

Burrow deep into your heart and impact your every thought.

Kill you without a trace.

I have been running for quite a long time.

Perhaps it is time I stop.

The swirling dresses around me are false indicators of a safe haven, and the rippling waves of fabric serve no consultation to my terrors. Lovely perfume wafts my direction with every rotation of the dancers, but to me it smells superficial and girlish. Dapper men accompanied by beautiful women grace the floor with superfluous, exaggerated motions, and their attempts at a waltz are urged onward by the musical efforts of the orchestra. Though the music is indeed wonderful, I can hear nothing other than a dull ringing in comparison to the tune I bore witness to last night. A melody so enchanting it could draw out the feelings in a frozen heart, and bring forth raw emotion from it.

Austria.

I don't know what I feel for that man. It's all so strange. The thought of him brings me a little courage, though. I will need it for this evening, the Prussians have arrived and I have not seen the enigmatic musician since his stony exit last. I feel almost... disappointed. I thought he would come to converse with me boldly, as if he was flaunting his arrogance right in front of Gilbert. I supposed that he would be like most men and confidently taunt an enemy, but he is evidently something I have not seen before.

A perfect gentleman. How very interesting.

A tap on my shoulder makes me turn around with overzealous excitement, and I break into a cold sweat, for there stands the epitome of my fears.

Prussia just smiles in a bemused sort of fashion as the shock registers on my face. I guess I should have expected him to arrive, as he must uphold his country's regulations, but it still fills me with awkward panic. Our last brief meeting consisted of informality and his intoxication. I'm glad he's sober now, but I can't help but wonder how much he saw last night...

And what happened to Austria? Now that I think about it, it does seem very odd for such a gentleman to not be punctual.

Unless something happened last night between the two of them. It wouldn't surprise me if such a conflict ended in tragedy. My stomach tightens and I begin to feel sick as he offers his hand to me. "Hungary, you've been without a partner for an excessive quantity of songs! Your superior won't like this, you know," Gilbert chides me, pompous features superimposed upon his smile. I begin to protest, but I know he is right, and I say nothing when I solemnly take his arm and stride across the marble mirror of the ballroom floor. "You're quite lucky that I was here at the right time, and that I'm so kind as to offer you a dance." The smile of blatant superiority is still in place on his face, and Roderich is nowhere in sight. A fast-paced waltz begins to sound, and Prussia naturally places his arms around the contour of my waist as I reach uncomfortably for his shoulders.

The music plays like a methodic pulsing in the back of my mind, and the tension in the air is nearly tangible. "Loosen up," Gilbert hisses as I trod stiffly against the floor, nervousness wracking my tendons as I struggle to maintain a calm disposition. His familiar smell wreaths around me, the aroma of fresh grass and the metallic tang of a sword's steel. The smell of battle.

I've missed it so much.

My body begins to relax under his strong arms, and when he twirls me around nostalgically, waves of reminisce crash over me, and I can almost pretend we are still together.

Then he lets go of my arm and my head clears again.

He always had to let go. Snatches of imagined words fill my ears. Among them are "forever," and "love,"

When he catches me again, I am not drawn in. My stomach tenses up, all because I remembered.

Wouldn't life be so much easier if all we did was forget? Live in a land of blissful, dreamlike ignorance?

We cannot because life is a struggle and a curse we must bear. The perpetual bickering and fighting is the trait of our humanity. Unease stirs within me once I realize how silent Gilbert has been, and when I gaze up into his striking eyes, they are churning like silt beneath a river with an indiscernible emotion. I feel like I should know it, and it seems so familiar... His typical arrogant smile flashes across his face, his slightly pointed canines glinting in the candlelight, yet this overture of friendliness does not reach his eyes. "So. I see you have met Roderich," He begins with a seemingly indifferent tone, but I notice his arms tighten around me significantly when he mentions Austria.

"Yes, I believe I am acquainted with the man," I retort coolly. I peer closer into his pupils, trying with narrowed eyes to depict the emotion in its murky scarlet depths. His next words are layered with thinly-veiled hostility when he replies quietly. "That man is hot-headed and weak, the worst of combinations. He will start a war he cannot win, and he deserves to die alone. His mind is full of dreams and melodies, even when steel is against his throat, and he is cold and unfeeling. You should stay away from him, or your empire will crumble and fall. You are worth so much more than that to me. An idiot like that is bound to bring you down with him,"

I have identified the emotion in his eyes as adoration and the hopelessness of partially unrequited love towards me. Pity does not take the place of fury in my heart, however. My cheeks are flushed with anger towards this pretentious man. He presumes audaciously that I will obey his word as law when he left me to die in my time of need! I may still have feelings for him, but I refuse to be met with such insolence. "I shall associate with whomever I choose. I appreciate your input, but my empire's longevity is of no one's concern but my own. Especially not yours," His eyes blaze with ruby flames and passion as his hand moves off its position on my waist and for his dagger. Before I can react to this sudden display of aggression, we are interrupted by a quiet and polite cough.

The source of the noise is discovered promptly. A tall man with amethyst irises stands almost silently behind us, face blank, with a small gauze bandage over one cheek.

I see. So Roderich did arrive.

I am filled with a strange sense of relief at his appearance. Prussia lowers his hand from the dagger's hilt and stands in front of me protectively, loathing evident in his posture and disdainful expression that borders on a feral snarl. "What do you want?" He inquires angrily. "If you will pardon my intrusion, I would gladly explain. As the next song is the last dance of the evening, it is customary to switch partners. I am merely requesting an audience with yours," He gives Gilbert a slight smile as the corner of his mouth turns upwards. Debating whether or not to kill this man on the spot, Prussia pauses for a few seconds before deciding that there are too many witnesses. "We'll talk about this later," He states quietly to me before stalking off to the men's wing. Austria watches him leave for a few moments before turning back to me and bowing slightly with that enigmatic smile of his. "So, Miss Elizabeta, may I have this dance?" The song he performed on the piano that night is now resounding around the ballroom, courtesy of the orchestra. There is hardly a moment's hesitation when I take his hand, promptly escorted by a perfect gentleman.

My hands fit perfectly into the space on his shoulders, and he places his arms gently around my waist with simplicity, no grand gestures. As I spin around, the colors of the women's ostentatious skirts fly past me in an exotic whirl, and I begin to feel dizzy until I collapse back into the safety of his warm arms that fill me with the ecstatic joy of being alive again. I want to stay forever encircled in his embrace, ensnared by the fever of the music, always gravitating towards this man, the center of my universe. The tune of his majestic song plays with every word he speaks, the rhythm with every soft breath he takes. He is the song, and the song is him. The essence of his life, so beautiful and passionate.

And so very, very sad.

"What happened to your cheek?" I inquire, already knowing the answer, but just wanting to hear the music of his words. "Courtesy of your beloved," He replies, and then winces as if remembering the steel bite into his flesh once more. "I know he has told you many things about me, and I cannot deny that many have a basis in proof. He may think that he can take care of you, but I can offer you something even better," He smiles, enigmatic as always, and I raise my eyebrows cynically. "What could you have to offer me besides yourself and your music?" I know that that is already more than enough, but I am selfish and curious to see what kind of cards he will play. He lowers his voice until it is barely audible and murmurs his answer to me, lips brushing against my ear, sweet breath stirring my hair.

"Revenge..."

My eyes widen with shock. He can see right through me once more, peer omnisciently into my heart and find my deepest desires without a trace of foreknowledge. The song ends and he heads towards the balcony for some air, but I refuse to let him escape again. Not this time. I dart as inconspicuously as possible towards his escape route and step out into the night air beside him, and when I meet his eyes again, I am possessed of the euphoria I always associate with the sight of him, automatically leaning forwards into his warm arms as our lips meet. A rush of exhilaration runs through me, and as he wraps his arms around me, I feel almost human, brimming with the strange feeling of the moment I exist in, right now, at this very moment, with a perfect gentleman. After a few seconds pass, he relinquishes his gentle embrace, eyes shining like iridescent gemstones; he walks back inside without saying a word, absolutely speechless for once.

I stand outside for another few minutes, catching my breath, gazing at the stars which I used to ignore. When you are in love, I suppose you start to notice the beauty in the little miracles of life.

When I walk back inside, I am surprised at how late it has gotten. The guests have all retired to their rooms, save for a lone figure at the piano, Austria. That smile of his is still in place, and his eyes are sparkling so brightly I notice them even in the dim candlelight. He's playing the song again. It may have just been the acoustics of the ballroom, but when he played it...

I almost thought it sounded a little less sad.


	4. Chapter 8

while... :P I promise, I have almost all the plot down now and the next update will be posted at most a week from now. Sorry again! Hope you like

this next one! I know it's short, but I thought it seemed fitting.

_There is a fullness of all things, even of sleep and love_

**Chapter Eight**

I try hard not to be consumed by my feelings.

If feelings control your actions, then mistakes are made.

I don't care about such petty things like mistakes when the worst one I've made is the best thing in my life.

I shouldn't have kissed her. She shouldn't have kissed me.

I can't blame her, it was my fault entirely for falling in love in the first place. It was a hopeless and fruitless effort to attempt winning her heart, and it will only result in pain for the both of us. Prussia will seek revenge and I will die a horrible death for my inexcusable actions. I will perish and she shall become his once more. A typical Helen of Troy scenario. I should feel afraid, I suppose, but then I remember _her._

Chestnut hair cascading down to her waist, framing a regal countenance. Always speaking, but never heard. Perfectly executed smile in place, false, the kind that never reaches your eyes. The eyes that could never find wonder or happiness in life. The eyes that hid what no one could see in a superficial and materialistic world. The eyes that, though you tried so very hard, could never love a hopeless man like me.

Those beautiful, miserable eyes.

Is that really worth dying for? Someone who cannot possibly feel the same way?

I...Don't know.

Elizabeta does not love me. She still houses feelings for Prussia, despite her wont for vengeance. She will be visiting him tonight, and she will thank him for escorting her through the dance, just as she thanked me on the balcony. While I will admit that what happened on the balcony was less... customary than I would have expected, it was my fault entirely. I was the one who let my feelings control my actions, the one who pulled her in close and tilted her head up. The one who encouraged such an encounter, the one who pressed my lips against hers... My face grows warm as I remember the incident, and my head quickly clears of the memory as I recall what will soon entail as a result. I was stupid, stupid and foolish, to forget that my recklessness wouldn't spare us. I endangered her by my forcing one-sided emotions upon her, and now she shall face the repercussions of my actions.

Goddammit.

I guess that's all that I am.

A complete and utter idiot, shooting at stones.

All I have to do now is collect my broken arrows.


	5. Chapter 9

Author's Note: I was feeling really bad about the fact that I went a whole week without updating, so I added another chapter to keep you all entertained for a while. It's getting really good now, sorry for the slow beginning, I needed a way to set things up. Please post reviews! I love all of your feedback, whether it's good or bad! Thank you all for your support! ^_^

_"We stop checking for monsters under our beds when we realize they are inside us," ~ Anonymous_

**Chapter Nine**

Sweet summery grass and the tang of honeysuckle in her flowing hair.

And the smell of death.

All the memories I've been trying so very hard to suppress break the dam of indifference I've been building, and they swarm me like the antagonists of my many wars.

I am sitting on a grassy hillside with her, my rough and calloused hands encircling her soft fingers, and there is nothing deterring us from this moment of wonderful peace. I even smile a little. It's an odd and new feeling for me, not having to fight, safe in a haven intangible to my enemies. I almost think I could be... happy. Here with her, where nothing else matters, the skies are always clear, and her bright smile eclipses even the most dazzling sun. She sighs and leans back into my chest, but her hair is full of the scent of flowers, causing my nose to itch as I almost sneeze. Elizabeta just laughs and plucks a Hungarian Crocus from the fertile ground, a subtle pink bloom, the last one of this summer. Winter is impending already, and there is no doubt that my empire will have to endure harsh times.

When I glance at her features, I realize something quite out of place. Her face looks oddly childish, as though she were still eighteen, if this were early days for both of us. With a shock, I remember what year it must be. So my subconscious seeks to torment me with this recollection, then. I see. "I... Have to go..." The sudden warmth and comfort of her back against my chest disappears quickly, and an early winter chill takes it place as Hungary sits up, slightly alarmed. "So soon? What is the matter?" I begin to tremble slightly, but she thankfully doesn't notice. The calm before the storm has passed, and now the hurricane is brewing. Battle I understand, battle I can cope with. Nothing on this scale, however. The only thing that I cannot help, the invisible enemy I cannot fight, no matter how hard I try.

I have to go. I have to leave her behind, though it rips my heart in pieces. I could see the uprisings and political unrest stirring on the centerfold of her homeland, a rebellion on the verge of exploding like gunpowder. She would be torn apart with no one to turn to. But I have to go. I have to leave, though it splits every fiber in my being, I tear myself away. I can't save her, I never could, no matter how much I wanted to. I could give her the whole world, but it would never be enough to cleanse the sin of my unforgivable action, to free the guilt of leaving her to die. The sky grows dark, and thunder resounds around us. They don't have long now. Do it quickly, like a guillotine, and salvage what you still can of your kingdom.

My face contorts into an odd expression of an awkward grimace, concealing my despairing agony extremely well. "I... Won't be seeing you ever again. My empire needs me," Hurt spasms cross her face, as well as confusion. "But... your promise-" "Promises are for children!" I interrupt her with a snarl, anger towards myself flooding outwards towards her stunned face. I hate myself for what I am. For what I do to her. For not being the kind of hero who would give up everything for her. I wish I could run back to her, collapsed figure, and hold her tightly, comforting her with whatever I can. I wish I could turn around and tell her "I'm sorry! I love you more than you could ever know! I want to be with you forever!" instead of running away coldly, hiding the tears that slide down my face. But I cannot.

The year is 1708.

The plague has reached Prussia.

And the storm has come.

I stop running when I reach a large town, and moans of sickness and pain echo throughout the dirty streets, though they are devoid of living people. A lone woman runs along the road, sobbing hysterically while clutching a bundled arrangement of cloth. She is blinded by her tears and collides into me, all the while screaming helplessly about her sickened infant. "Mein süßes Kind! Warum? Warum?" Gently, I offer her my handkerchief, and she dries her eyes with it. I take the infant from her and examine it closely, then hand it gingerly back to the woman.

"Your child is not gravely ill yet, but he will be soon enough. Keep him away from the corpses, and try to get away from the city." The woman bows her head and murmurs her thanks extensively, "Do not waste your time on such formalities. Go!" The woman runs quickly away, but I am frozen in my place, collapsed onto my knees, ashen face in my hands. The people of my homeland will be saved from complete obliteration ... But at what costs?

I have betrayed Elizabeta when I promised to follow her to the ends of the earth. Her form shimmers through my bleary, crying eyes, her shape fading away into nothingness. I'm losing her already, but I extend my hand out anyway, still trying to reach her. Still trying to save. I have to protect and defend. It is the only thing I know how to do.

My body stirs and I wake up from my bad dream, only to find that reality is the true nightmare.

I compose myself, get dressed in proper clothes, and knock on Hungary's door.


	6. Chapter 10

_"Bitterness is like a cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean," ~Maya Angelou_

**Chapter Ten**

When he knocks at the door, I feel nothing. I promised myself I would do nothing, and feel nothing.

Be an apathetic stone.

A statue.

Always admired, never loved.

The door creaks open and I turn around.

I break my promise.

The framing of his face, so familiar in my mind, hasn't changed very much since our last meeting many years eyes, soft scarlet, shine like a beacon though his careworn face, still very young, but already so serious an expression on such a boyish countenance. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing audible erupts, so he ceases his efforts. He did not bring his sword, but the slight scent of alcohol wreaths around him. Perhaps he took a swig for nerves, but the small amount of alcohol ingested is not playing it's role very well. Anxiously, Gilbert runs his hand through his hair, eyes downcast, avoiding me. He seems to be composed fairly well for what he must be going through, but his irises tell a different story. Behind the ruby hue, the whites are tinged a lighter red from crying.

He falls to his knees, and I run over to catch him just in time. The attempt to help him up shocks me deep inside. I thought I had forgotten all about him. I thought I had promised myself not to fall for him anymore.

I guess a part of me still cares for him, after all he's done to me.

There's an awkward silence following this, and we just stand silently, holding each other's arms. After what seems like forever, I begin to speak. "You look a mess," I chide him, folding my arms. As soon as the words slip out, a smile breaks across his face, and the room becomes a little bit brighter when he offers me his hand. As soon as my fingers reach him, he grabs me and twirls me around the room before pulling me close to his chest, the familiar home I missed so dearly. Some stray tears slide down his face and land like small diamonds in my hair, and warmth emanates from him in fantastic waves. The red flames of his eyes surround me, embers burning ferociously and pulling me in closer and closer. I feel as though I am dancing in pits of brilliant fire, tongues of infernos lapping at my heels, passionately burning through everything, and anything. In him I see power and fire and war, and an anger so intense it blazes perpetually onward, even with no fuel left. I laugh haughtily at the beauty of it all. The war, the fighting, the cries of battle, are all that embody him.

And I love it.

The spinning and the thrill of seeing him with me are too much. I collapse to the ground with a thud, and a feverish vision flashes briefly before my eyes. Prussia is standing in front of me, figure large and menacing, smiling enthusiastically with his two pointed canine teeth. He snaps his fingers, and brutal fire dances delicately across his palm. He kneels down and offers his other hand to me, the smile still on place, and begins to speak in a tone like silk. "Come my dear queen, we have no more work left to do. Let's go watch the show, shall we?" I take his hand, but I'm still shaking my head, thoroughly confused. "What work? What show?" I inquire. Gilbert simply stares at me like I'm missing something obvious and cocks his head to the side. "Why, all the work we've done here! Don't worry. You haven't missed it, my love, the world is still burning. You can almost see the end of it." The smile flashes across his face again, and as I look around, I see what he means. It's not just in his hand that the fire rests. All around me, my world burns to ashes, and the flames are reflected in Gilbert's shining eyes.

Light bursts in upon my daytime terror as I regain consciousness.

"Elizabeta, are you alright?" Gilbert is standing over me, concern gracing his face. "I...I'm fine," I reply, trembling slightly. He shook his head with a smile and offers me his hand to help me up, but I shrink back. This man is war and something to be feared. He glares back at me, and when he speaks, malice and spite edge his tone. "Don't think I don't know what's going on. I saw you with him earlier, on the balcony. He's not worth the trouble, and he can't protect you," Anger urges me onward. "Oh, you mean like you did? A piece of me died that winter, and I thought it never return. But it does when I'm with him." He's deadly silent for a moment, but then he pulls me in and kisses me. I can feel his heartbeat through his lips, and it matches up with mine, racing perfectly in time, completing each other's melody. When we break apart, his eyes are burning with the red flame of my nightmares.

"Good to know you once cared as much as I do. I'm so sorry I left, and I never told you why. It killed me, infusing me with such agony," He paused, staring out my window for a few moments. "They say we countries are ageless, but we are not deathless. Countries like us fall all the time. You say a piece of you died that winter. Well, my whole body just stopped. My only loves now are you and my country. Battle is my only friend. I'm dead inside, Elizabeta," A sole tear trails down his face, and he turns to me again. "It's three days until the festival's over. I'll give you three days, Hungary. Three days to come back to me, or I wage war trying to get to you. Your little friend from the balcony will not be spared," Gilbert closes the door behind him with a snap.

The sad part is, I knew it was going to happen.

If I stayed with him, I mean. We're too alike.

Clash flame with flame, and the world will burn.


	7. Chapter 11

I'm really sorry I haven't uploaded in a while, I've been having some family problems and had to put the story on hiatus. You guys are wonderful, please continue to let me hear your feedback. :)

"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind anything they ever believed in can hope to escape," ~William S. Burroughs

The day marks the second day on Prussia's overture.

I have not left my room since he came to visit me yesterday, and his ultimatum rings clearly through my mind. I'm not intimidated by empty threats, but this is no mere threat.

It's a warning.

If I do not bend to his will he will easily slaughter all who oppose him. It's not a question of "if", it's a question of "when". Death lies in store for all of us.

And yet... My mind wanders to the musician and his songs. The tunes that could invigorate you, the very melody that entranced you, the notes that spun the very gears of the earth. The smile that could calm the rage of a storm, the violet flash of his irises that could coax the stoniest, unforgiving heart. Even a heart hidden under the armor of aloof and calculating thistles, fabricated to protect it from being broken again. He's discovered the chink in my armor, and now not even my thoughts are free of the song and his voice. It terrifies me, the extent of his power over me.

Is he really worth dying for?

A sharp pain jolts me from my thoughts. I glance down and realize the Gilbert's dagger is still in my hands. I hadn't noticed I had taken it from it's place on my mahogany dresser, it's all been a blur since the events of last night. I had thumbed the blade until a bead of blood had appeared on the canvas of my finger. _Not the first blood this blade has drawn. Ceremonial dagger or not, it belonged to Prussia,_ I recall with a shudder. The bead falls and splatters onto the pristine silver surface of the knife, and I freeze.

The dark and sinister fluid looks exactly like his eyes.

The iris glares intensely at me and a whisper almost reaches my ears.

_Join me, my queen_

Suppressing a scream, I quickly grab the weapon and hurl it out the window. I hope it lands somewhere desolate where it will corrode and rust far away from me, somewhere where he can't get inside my head. I fall to the ground, but no tears come to me. For all my years, I have never cried, and I'm not about to start. I just lie on the floor, wild eyed, pale, staring blankly at the wall. An intruder would certainly mistake me for a corpse, and that guess would not be far off.

And in enters the person I least expected.

The Archduchess of Austria.

Shocked, I reflexively straighten up and attempt to look as dignified as possible with such little notice. The noblewoman's eyes sweep across the room and rest on me. She begins to speak, and I am surprised by her tone and fumbling words. "Um... You'Il have to excuse me, I'm very sorry. Please pardon my intrusion," She explained nervously. Her voice still carries the unfamiliar tone... And she appears almost... Embarrassed? Frightened?

The woman's eyes flick nervously from side to side, as if she has been cornered by the imminent prospect of a bloody war. As I look closer, I become more convinced of this assumption. Her proud eyes have the look of a trapped animal, and as she kneels down to my level on the floor, I can see the stress of supporting her country on her face.

"Please," She whispers, the tone which I have now recognized to be desperation superfluous in her speech. "If you really do love him, then you must help me protect him. Losing you would mean the end of his life... I'm terrified of what he might do without you. Please, Miss Hungary...Save Austria,"

She glances around once, then exits as though nothing had occurred.

When she closed the door behind her, though perhaps it was nothing more than a trick of the light, I thought I could just make out the sliver of a silver tear on her cheek.

The second day has ended, and the third day will begin.

I know what I must do.


	8. Chapter 12

Author's Note: SOOOOOO SOOOOO sorry for the short length of this chapter. :( I'm still feeling things out, but I think I know how I'm going to piece all this together. Thank you all for your dedication towards this loser. :)

"Round and round, the apples of gold, round and round dance we; thus do we dance from the days of old, about the enchanted tree; Round and round and round we go, while the spring is green, or the stream shall flow, or the wind shall stir the sea!" ~The Song of The Western Faeries

There she was.

Such a simple phrase to describe the start of the end of the world.

And yet there she was, on the final day of the ball, cloaked in iridescent emerald, her dark hair cascading in flowing waves, her tempting lips a rich, dark red. She stepped lightly down the gilded steps of the stairway, the noise so soft, she seemed to be floating.

And when she took Austria's arm, a dagger of ice plunged deep into my heart. I didn't believe I still had one, but that immaculate young woman conjured and procured it from the depths of my cursed soul, dark and scorched from years of death and pain. But this pain was one new to me, and it struck truer and with twice the agony of any arrow. Then she reached up to kiss him.

The arrow twisted.

Quickly, I darted outside to seek refuge in the forest. I don't want anyone to see the brilliant Prussia, not like this. My knees give way before I can stop them, and I'm on the floor. I feel as though my insides are hollow, and I can't breathe, suffocating on my own panic. My heart rips open, and something feral emerges from it's depth, a monstrous being of raw emotion and power. I attempt desperately to force it down, the blackness of anger, born of hate and rage. I tried so hard to. To not be a monster again. I tried for her.

Slowly, I stood up. The flame had sparked. Now it was a raging fire, the tendrils of smoke extending down my veins, filling my blood with hot coals. Heat resonated throughout my entire body. I pulled back my arm and swung. An explosion, followed by dead silence.

The window I had shattered was completely demolished, and the ground was coated in shimmering fragments of the pane. Elegantly clothed men and women stood petrified, their eyes fixated upon me, silently gazing in awe. I glanced into one of the bigger shards of glass to see an odd young man gazing back. Handsome, yes, but with luminous red eyes, wild and... almost animal. Hungary was struck mute, her mouth agape, her face partially concealed by that damned Austria, who had shielded her with his body when he had heard the noise and thought it dangerous. I smirked despite myself, he always must play such a stoic. Heroes don't live long in my book. _This is what you wanted, isn't it? A fight?_ Yes, it's exactly what I wanted. I laughed.

It sounded dead.

"We lay siege tomorrow," I stated. The words echoed throughout the silent hall. I shot a last glare at Austria, then darted into the forest.


	9. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Because there's been such a big hiatus, I wanted to make sure that you guys had lots of updates. I felt really lousy for not doing my job, sorry. "^_^ Special shout out to Slovenskych, because you're really nice. :) Thanks, please continue to give feedback.

"Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again." ~Unknown

Black minuscule petals and small white leaves float and hover tranquilly in the ruby liquid contained by a small glass vial. Such an odd thing, this poultice. Intensely powerful for such a small dose. The only possession besides my cloak that I had brought with me to the fields of battle.

"Miss Hungary?" A timid voice stirs me from my reverie. Outside the tent, a maid nervously intertwines her fingers. At my beckoning, the servant shyly shuffles into the tent, eyes downcast. "One of our superior officers was killed this morning in an assassination attempt from the Prussian army. He died defending Austria." Beyond the maid, I can see a funeral pyre in the distance. Another nameless life lost on my behalf, a stony corpse added to the body count. While I sit here and let other unknown innocents lay down their lives for my petty chess game.

A sudden thought strikes me as odd. "He made an offer, didn't he?" Of course he made an offer, a last resort. The maid hesitated for a second then shook her head vigorously, her eyes red from excessive crying. "What did he offer?" I inquire again, in a softer voice. "Please, Miss, don't make me say it! The dead man, he died for you to stay here, he died not just for Austria! Please Miss, for the sake of the man who died today, don't even consider the offer! You will break Mr. Austria's heart!" The maid's eyes overflowed with tears, her voice rose in hysterics. When I remained silent, the poor maid allowed more of her tears to fall, and whispered in despair. "Prussia says..." The maid sniffled, "That he will cease the siege if you return to him. Please, Miss Hungary, don't accept his offer!". "Of course I won't," I chide the foolish young woman, but my heart is full of doubts invisible to her eye. "Send Austria to my tent, if you please," I ask of her, and a dull smile spreads across her reassured face as she scurries out of the tent, convinced that the world was righted again.

When I'm certain she is out of sight, I reach for a bottle of red wine and two wineglasses. I hastily pour the ruby elixir into Austria's glass, along with the wine, and the potion is all but hidden to the untrained eye. As if on cue, my musician enters. A bright half-smile makes it's way across his weary face, and his violet eyes light in that enigmatic way of his. "You look beautiful," He breathes, eyes locked with mine. His black hair is perfectly disheveled, and his gorgeous eyes seem to pierce my soul. "I heard you had discovered Prussia's offer. If you accept it, I will never forgive you. It will kill me inside," He glanced around the room before locking eyes with me again, and I could sense from his intensity that he was telling the truth.

He would never forgive me. My face paled. "I apologize for being so rude and horrible," He murmured, noticing my pallor. No, it's not horrible. It's horrible for him to be such a handsome gentleman. It's horrible for him to care so much. It's horrible that I love him, that I'm such a monster, that I 'm about to commit the very nightmare he forbid. He smiled that lovely half smile when he spoke again, picking up the wineglass I had added the poultice to. "Let us drink," He said, then, as if almost hesitating to commit such a bold action, put his warm arm around my waist. As he raises the glass to his lips, the blood drains from my face, but he doesn't notice, and he takes a sip.

At first nothing happens, and he leans forwards with a smile on his face, and kisses me softly. Then his beautiful violet eyes widen, and roll back in his head as he falls onto the bed, unconscious. He's breathing quietly, and I want to stay with him, but that would defeat the purpose of the elixir. He's be awake in an hour, and that's exactly the amount of time I have to leave. Silently, I grab my cloak and walk outside the tent silently. A few guards are stationed, but they are easy to slip past. What is more difficult is to find a weapon rather than avoid one at the moment. I check the armory, but the equipment has all been issued out to the soldiers. For once, I wish I still possessed the dagger Prussia had given me. I check the kitchen, but the knives have all been locked up or hidden away. The only thing that remains is a solitary frying pan. A bit eccentric of a choice, but it's well weighted in my hand, so I take it.

I sneak into the stables and gently guide a horse from it's stall, then slide onto the animal's back. I ride for a little while until I see the Prussian camp within walking distance, then I dismount my horse and send it back in the direction of the Austrian camp.

I won't be making a return trip.


	10. Chapter 14

Author's Note: The 14th installment of The Song! Enjoy! :3 The story's about to reach it's grand finale! This has been such a journey, thank you all. The 15th chapter will be posted soon.

"Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up," ~ James A. Baldwin

Chapter 14

Prussia.

He padded stealthily through the misted forest, fog clinging like glittering moss to his black cloak, reflecting the countenance of the mirrored stars. The shimmering orbs stood suspended in a vast sea of dark ink, black accented by the pinpricks of light miles away. They observed with cold aloofness and great disdain, as if the events on Earth were beneath their elitist notice. The disinterested stars had apparently discovered better things to watch, as they no longer glared upon the young man who was now traversing the forest towards me. Dawn would be approaching soon, her rosy flame gracing the earth. To some, this would be a sign of peace and solace, but not to me. Austria must have awoken some time ago and discovered my treachery.

Prussia pulled back his hood to reveal a handsome face with piercing scarlet eyes. I reach discreetly for the frying pan hidden within the folds of my cloak. "Hungary," he breathed, his eyes closing with euphoria, as if just the simple syllables of my name a thrill. "So you've made your decision." I nodded slowly. He stepped closer, a wry smile flickering across his face, and sweeps his hand across my cheek. Heat rushes to the place he brushed, and I tighten my grip on the weapon. Prussia leans in for our lips to meet, and I swing out at him with fiery rage.

The pan connects sharply with his shoulder, and he yells out, more from fury than from pain. I tighten my muscles, preparing for a second strike, but I have been out of battle far too long to match the blows of a meticulous soldier. He draws his sword and parries the feeble strike easily, laughing while he does. "My turn," Prussia hisses, his lips forming a feral snarl, sparks of embers in his eyes as he twists his sword towards my arm. I attempt to deflect his weapon, but I'm once again far too late.

The blade sharply slices my arm, and I bite my lip to unsuccessfully stop the scream that's swelling in my throat. Blood rains in torrents towards the ground, and nausea grips me as Prussia shoves me to the ground with the hilt of his sword. Agony contracts sharply across my body, and stars fill my vision. I must not black out. I must not black out. I have to keep fighting for him.

For Austria.

My heart is racing, and it's drumming echoes loudly. It almost sounds like... horse hooves? Prussia traces the blade mockingly in a circle around my body. "I don't know what your motives were for coming here to fight me, but your efforts are futile. And Austria will never forgive you for betraying him like this," He smiles cruelly. "Which part of a traitor shall we cut out? How about the heart?" He croons, then lifts the blade high above his head. The horse hooves stop, and I close my eyes, preparing for the end. But the end doesn't come. Blood splatters across my face, but it's not mine.

It's Austria's.

My beautiful musician lies in a crumpled heap, blood gushing from his abdomen. The sacrifice he paid to protect me. Prussia is struck speechless, he did not expect Austria's sudden arrival. I gather my strength and stand, my hand surprisingly steady as I smash the pan into his skull. Prussia moans quietly before he falls to the ground, unconscious, the incriminating dent visible on his head, a trail of blood leaking from his mouth as his eyes shut.

Dead silence surrounds me, the only noise is that of my own breathing, magnified by the absence of sound. "It's done," I whisper to myself. Austria's vital regions have been reclaimed. I rush over to Austria and breath a sigh of relief. He's still breathing, but he won't be for long. I pick up Austria's body and sling it over my shoulder,then place him gently on his horse, dressing his wound as quickly as I can. His eyelids flutter momentarily, and I hear him murmur almost inaudibly. "Miss Hungary..." My heart breaks as his voice drops to a whisper. "Have to save... Miss Hungary,"

I mount the horse and begin to ride as fast as I can, tears blurring my vision as his breathing grows shallower besides me. My shoulder stings, but there are more pressing matters I must attend to. Ahead of me, I see the lights of the Austrian camp flickering, and the men of the camp dashing closer and closer. Intense pain grips me, I don't know how much longer I ride before the world turns black.


	11. Chapter 15

Author's Note: I doubt anyone reads these, but this is the final chapter of The Song. :) Thank you all for your continued support, you guys are awesome. The idea for The Song came to me in a dream, and my friend encouraged me to start writing romance fanfiction, which I had never done before. This friend was a big AusHun fan, so I made it very AusHun, but personally I'm also a big fan of PruHun, so I also made it very sympathetic towards Prussia. I hope you enjoy the final installment, please tell me what you think. :)

"There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story," ~ Frank Herbert

Austria

The flashbacks are ephemeral and surreal, the epiphanies flickering in montages of the following night, snatches of them dancing like auroras before me.

"Where is she?" I hear myself inquire, panic lacing my tones. A servant's eyes widen in fear as he points mutely in the direction of the Prussian camp.

A brief vision of reins and horsehair whipping wildly, then of two Prussian soldiers. Of course Prussia had left the best of his guards as sentries. Hungary was just beyond them. The thought filled me with torrents of strength. The soldiers faces contorted with shock as though they were being ravaged by an unrelenting hurricane, a savage, suffering the brutality of some demon of war. Intricately carving them with rage, squinting through the red haze of torrential blood.

I make short work of them.

Up ahead, Prussia traces his weapon around her body.

_Damn it, damn it_

The sword is raised

_Not enough time, never enough time_

Light catches the blade as it arcs, and I press my horse onward even harder, my limbs screaming with protest, but I don't care. I never cared. She is the only thing that matters now.

_No time to counter, no time to draw._

Time slows down.

_I have to let her know._

_"I love you,"_

Hungary

I press the wound on my shoulder until blood wells up, the ruby globules shimmering on my fingertips. The pain is excruciating and deep, but upsetting it makes me feel less empty inside. Proof that I'm still alive, that my treacherous heart betrays me, still beats stubbornly.

When my musician's does not.

If he is not dead already, he will be soon. If he survives, he will never forgive me. It is not fair, but the world is not a fair place. Death is our only justice, our solace, our judge. I wish Prussia had killed me when he had the chance, I don't want to live in a world without Austria.

Prussia's words echo through my mind. "He will never forgive you," His phantom voice taunts me. "We are ageless, but not deathless," It was here he stated that, looking out this very window, crying the same tears over lost love.

Outside, a bird chirps merrily.

The fall would break my neck.

"We are ageless, but not deathless,"

Austria

I come to in a gasp of fear, and a medic rushes to my bedside.

"Mr. Austria!"

"Where is she, where is Miss Elizabeta?"

_"_Mr. Austria, do not move, you are not well!"

"Where is she?!"

"Miss Hungary has gone to her room,"

A sudden thought strikes me, and I rush up the stairs, my chest wound splitting with pain. Already, the pristine white canvas of the bandages is becoming tainted with splotches of red.

Hungary

My bare toes trace the grainy mesmerizing spirals of the windowsill I stand upon. I wish I could will myself to jump.

_"Be brave, like him," _I whisper to myself.

The thought fills me with courage.

Underneath me, the world looms menacingly.

Austria

I fling the door open so hard the wood splinters, and there she stands, an angel draped in white, perched on a sill, as though about to take flight to the robin's egg sky. I run towards her, almost vomiting from the pain of my wound.

Hungary

I begin to fall forwards, and my feet leave the sill.

A pair of familiar and warm arms envelope me, and I am ensnared by them.

I distinguish amid my sobs a melodic and whimsical heartbeat as I am drawn back into the room.

My musician.

Austria

Miss Elizabeta cowers under my arm like a beautiful child, convulsing with cries until I kiss her softly on the forehead, soothing her promptly when she distinguishes my countenance through her tears. "It's okay, it's okay," I murmur, and she buries herself in my shoulder. "I love you," I hear her whisper, and she kisses me. I smile, and I hum her a lullaby. A beautiful smile beams across her face, and her eyes fill with happiness and love. She recognizes the song, the one I played for her when we first met. The chimes and notes float out the window, and the birds gather to listen to it's enigmatic charm. She holds my hand until she falls asleep.


End file.
